What I Did To Deserve You
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Set after "The Name of the Doctor". The Doctor has seen so many endings, it's time for a beginning. A rewrite of my story "Always a Mystery", with an Eleven/Clara ending.


What I Did To Deserve You

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Doctor Who

Copyright: BBC

The Doctor carried Clara in silence all the way out of his time stream, across the fields of Trenzalore, and back into the TARDIS. She clung to him gratefully, too exhausted to speak or even think; processing the memories of dozens of lifetimes, the rescue of eleven Doctors and the sinister demeanor of a twelfth had left her with an excruciating headache. Still, nothing in the universe could prevent her from being curious, and so as soon as he set her down in her guest bedroom, she caught hold of his sleeve and asked the first question that came to mind.

"Doctor … "

"It's all right, Clara," he said softly. "You're safe now."

"I know." She smiled. "Thank you. Why didn't you tell me you were married?"

The nonsequitur made him blink.

"It's just … if you had told me earlier … "

She blushed hotly, recalling all their flirtatious little jokes, the earnest way he had called her "beautiful" and kissed her burned palm during their adventure inside the crashed TARDIS, the Cyberplanner's words, and especially the way she had snogged him senseless in Victorian London. No wonder he had squirmed.

She'd known all along that falling in love with him would be a bad idea, but it would have been nice to have a previous marriage be the reason. As opposed to short, bossy, human Clara Oswald simply not being good enough.

The Doctor sighed and snapped his fingers, making a soft armchair emerge from the nearby wall. He folded his lanky body into it and leaned forward, contemplating the wall with distant green eyes, seeing right through her to wherever the ghost of River Song had gone.

"If you must know," he said, in a low, hoarse voice as tired as her own, "Technically, I'm widowed."

"Technically?"

"And I didn't mention her because, shortly before I met you in Victorian London, I'd just seen her for what I believed to be the last time."

_Oh. Oh, Doctor._

"I'm so sorry."

For River Song, too, even though they'd barely met. The time-travelling Professor had shown a personality as warm and vibrant as her golden curls, and even a straner could tell that the world would be a darker place without her.

Clara remembered her own father at her mother's funeral, his hair seemingly turned grey overnight, mechanically touching her shoulder as she clutched _101 Places To See_ against her chest. His eyes empty of all the warmth that love had put there. The quiet of their house, broken only by his implacable cleaning and organizing – always a tidy man, the loss of Ellie's creative chaos had sent him over the edge. Clara had been forced to start a shouting match just to get him to say her name, and another one to finally bring out his bottled tears.

She doubted that tactic would work this time, with a man who had over a thousand years' experience of running away from his feelings. Still, she was curious.

"What did you mean when you said you … made a backup?"

"More or less what it sounds like." He shrugged, for once not sounding proud of his own ingenuity. "I uploaded her consciousness into the computer system of the greatest library in the universe."

"Like the Great Intelligence?"

"In a manner of speaking." The Doctor frowned. "Not one of my best decisions, to be honest. She's spent nearly all her life in some form of prison, you know. The last thing she needed was to spend her death in one … and all because I couldn't let her go."

Clara shivered, trying not to think of the endless seconds she had spent trapped inside the WiFi. Would that be any better than dying for good, especially if none of her loved ones were with her? And yet, the impulsive, half-crazy, loving desperation of that gesture had 'Doctor' written all over it.

"You were only trying to save her," she said. "It's not your fault it didn't work."

The Doctor leaned his face into his hands. For the second time that day (or was it millenium?), she saw him crying – not in the shamed, half-smothered manner of a young man, but with the quiet dignity of age.

"At least," he murmured through his fingers, "We said goodbye this time. I haven't always been so lucky."

Clara did not know what to say. Her own eyes stung in sympathy; her hands ached to reach for him, smooth the soft brown hair from his forehead and kiss his tears away. Then she felt ashamed of herself just for thinking these thoughts about a man who had just said his last goodbye to his beloved wife.

Distract him. She had to distract him. The first question that occurred to her was a painful one, but at least it would bring his thoughts back to the present.

"One more thing … " she murmured.

"Yes?" He wiped his eyes, all the intensity of his gaze narrowing down on her like a spotlight, so suddenly it took her breath away. "Are you all right? Do you need anything? Glass of water, cup of coffee, lift to the hospital? You fell into my _time stream_, how in all the worlds are you still alive?"

"I'll try not to take that personally," she quipped, smiling up at him in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "I'm just wondering … "

She cleared her throat and gathered all her courage, ready for his answer. Whatever it might be, she mustn't break down in front of him. Not today.

"Can we still keep travelling together, now you know what I am?" she blurted out. "Now that you solved the mystery, I mean."

_The only mystery worth solving, _he had called her once, in answer to her fear that her short-lived species must be like ghosts to him. She hadn't even realized then how much of a ghost she really was, having died three times before his eyes, or how many other people he had lost.

"I … I know you're in mourning, Doctor. I understand if you'd rather be alone for a while, so …"

"Clara Oswin Oswald," said the Doctor, placing cool, strong hands on either side of her face, just as he had touched her armor when she was a Dalek. "You will _always_ be a mystery to me."

"Always?"

"Always. For the rest of our lives, I'll wonder what I did right to deserve you."

He leaned over her, his arms braced on either side of her head, and kissed her – first on the forehead, then on the nose he had once called 'funny', and finally on her lips.

Clara's first instinct was to close her eyes, curl her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, and hold him as close to her as she could. She wanted this. She had wanted this for so many lifetimes, the warmth of him, the sound of his two hearts beating against her chest, the salt of his tears …

His tears for River Song.

_No._

With a sudden effort, she pushed him away, falling back into her pillows. She was breathless, and not only from fatigue. What had they almost done?

The Doctor scrambled to his feet, backed away clear across the room, and would have bolted out the door if the TARDIS (finally reconciled to the girl who had brought her and her Thief together) had not kept it closed. He hit the door once with the flat of his hand, whirled around, and lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender and remorse.

"I'm sorry, Clara. I'm so sorry. I should've realized you wouldn't feel the same way – I mean - "

"Doctor!" She interrupted him firmly, knowing that (just like his previous spiky-haired incarnation), he needed to be stopped before working himself into a panic.

"I do feel the same way, chin boy," she said, beyond embarrassment, feeling oddly lightheaded, as if she were floating outside her body. "You know I do."

The Doctor lowered his hands. His eyes widened.

"I always have," she continued. "Ever since that night I saw you in the driveway, working on that silly quadricycle and waiting to take me away. But just look at you, Doctor. You lost your wife, you're – you're an emotional train wreck right now! How do I know that … this," she gestured between them, "Is what you really want?"

"Quadricycles are cool," he retorted, folding his arms and glaring at her in mock offense. "And for the record, I have wanted this for a very, _very_ long time."

"Really?" She meant to sound ironic, but what came out was an embarrassingly breathy whisper.

The Doctor smirked down at her, green eyes sparkling. "It wasn't the Cyberplanner you slapped that day at Hedgewick's."

"And you let me think – "

Something exploded inside Clara then, a small firework of joy, triumph and – to her surprise – irritation. She pulled the pillow out from underneath her head, with an energy of motion she hadn't known she posessed just now, and hurled it squarely into his face. He caught it just before it hit, then peered at her from behind it as if it were a shield.

"Well, I had to save my pride, didn't I?" he replied, rubbing his cheek at the memory. "You slapped me! Besides, I didn't know who you were then, what you would become. I had no idea … "

That did make sense. Something in her features must have softened toward him, because he crossed the room in three long strides, sat back down next to her bed, and gently tucked the pillow back where it belonged.

"You were right about me, cleverclogs," he murmured, still smiling, "But you were also wrong. I do hate endings. I hate saying goodbye. But from now on, I _refuse_ to let that stop me from loving someone, no matter how much it might hurt. If there's anything marriage has taught me, it's that."

He touched the tip of her nose, leaning in so close that she could have kissed him again if she wanted. She could see the faintest hints of brown and gold in his light green eyes.

"And for the record," he whispered. "There is nothing funny about your nose."

Clara was wise enough by now to know that the right choice was rarely the easy one. Still, deciding to jump into the time stream had been easier than this.

She took a deep breath.

"Take me home," she said. "Please. Take me home and don't come back until you've thought this through. This isn't something we should rush into, you know?"

He pouted, and it took a lot of self-control for her not to touch his lips.

"When did you get to be so sensible? I remember a certain governess who kissed me in mid-argument the third time we met."

"That governess didn't have Ellie Ravenwood for a mother," she replied. "My mum always said that the soufflé isn't in the soufflé, it's in the recipe. I want to get all the ingredients right this time … that way if it falls apart, it won't be our fault."

"Well, soufflé girl," said the Doctor, drawing back slightly with a loving smile, "If you put it that way, I'm sure our time together will be delicious – " She giggled; he blushed like a schoolboy, catching the double entendre a bit too late. "And," brushing back her hair for emphasis, "I'll do everything in my power to stop it from falling apart."

He kissed her again, and this time she didn't bother to resist.

"We're still on for Wednesday, then?" she asked lightly, like any girl mentioning a date.

"Wednesday it is," he said, his breath stirring her hair. "Sleep now, my Clara. You'll be home before you know it."

_My other home, _she thought, failing utterly to keep the ecstatic smile off her face. _Besides this one right here._

As he left and the TARDIS engines began to purr, with such soothing harmony that Clara understood their feud was finally over, she closed her eyes and let fatigue take over. Thinking of home, thinking of the children she would have to confront when they came home from the cinema, she indulged herself with a private chuckle at her own expense. Angie had called the Doctor "Clara's boyfriend" the first time they met, just as she had recognized Porridge as the Emperor from looking at that coin.

_When will I learn not to underestimate that girl?_ was her last coherent thought before she fell asleep.


End file.
